Werewolves in Lima
by neveraworsename
Summary: Rachel goes on a volunteer mission as a girl. She comes back something else entirely. AU season 2, eventual Faberry
1. Chapter 1

Title: Werewolves in Lima

Author's name: neveraworsename (formerly The Best Name On The Site)

Rating: T

Disclaimer: I do not own Glee.

Feedback: Accepted

Distribution: fanfiction, livejournal

Summary: Rachel goes on a volunteer mission as a girl. She comes back something else entirely. AU season 2

Pairing: Rachel/Quinn

Prologue-

Normally, Rachel doesn't listen on the stairs. She thinks it's debase and low-brow and something reserved for huge families in dorky movies (She does not think about her own soap opera, about the mother who planted clues to find her own daughter, that met her and left her because she was not what she remembered, that found a replacement baby from two of her worst enemies, the baby she didn't get to see, the baby she knitted blankets for until the perfect one came out and her mother just said, "No, thank you." Rachel is not bitter, don't look at her like that.) For one thing, it's dangerous for so many people to be leaning against the same thing and secondly, if someone looked up they would see her legs because there's no way she's sitting crosslegged for this. Normally, it's not a problem because Rachel is an intelligent young woman who listens to music when her fathers are having a private conversation.

But normally, her Facebook and MySpace aren't flooded with MISSING FOUR-YEAR-OLD BOY, HENRY PETERSON, LAST SEEN WEDNESDAY, JULY 14TH, LIMA, OH. There's no picture of a boy with a gap-toothed smile and freckles over his whole face, when she logs in. But today there is and she'd be twelve kinds of stupid to not listen to her daddy talk about going out when he's captain of the police force.

Well, she could have missed the part where her pops is saying stuff like, "But Lee, how can you just go out like that? The county is willing to go out and look-"

"H, they don't know the woods. There's not a lot of it, but any newbie can get stuck and then there's a search and rescue bfor the damned search and rescue/b. I'm not letting that happen if I can go out with some volunteers and some guys from the force and find him."

"Lee, I'm not saying that. I'm just saying-" He gives one of his deep sighs, like when she used to get in trouble for fighting with the kids for them saying things like 'queer' and 'fag.' She slides her legs out and climbs down some of the stairs as quietly as she can. "Can't you sit this one out? Just, this once? Ray misses you, even if she won't say anything." Pops' voice goes a little softer, quieter, like when he's handling a little bird, "I miss you, Lee-lee."

Her dad is quiet, then she hears the scrape of his chair. "H, I've gotta go. I need to help find him."

She stands, because she can see his shadow from the kitchen light, she can pretend to be going for some water.

So, she hears him say, "I need to round up at least one more for groups of four."

Her mouth moves before her brain says shut up.

"Can I go?"

There's the second scrape as her pops goes barreling out just after her daddy.

They're staring at her, slack-jawed and wide-eyed before pops says, in his loudest, most upset worrywart, Jewish mom voice, "FUCK NO!"

Her daddy says it at the same time and she narrows her eyes, "Why not?"

Pops is sputtering, "Because- because- because I said so! There's no way you're heading out in the middle of the night with a rinky-dink flashlight and a vest to go find this boy. No way in Hell."

"Pops," She says. Rachel bites on the corner of her mouth then says, "I want to help. It's eight o'clock, so not the middle of the night, I'll carry a second flashlight and wear the reflector tape over the vest. I just want to help."

"No," Her daddy says. "You've never taken the certification-"

Rachel interrupts him, "Because I'm not old enough, I've sat through the lessons more times then they have, I know the woods."

"No, you think you know the woods. You know the difference between poison ivy and a bush, and not to eat the red berries."

"Daddy, I can do it."

"You think you can do it."

She clenches her jaw. "When did I think I can, I think I can not become enough?"

"When we moved six hundred miles because it didn't stop all those kids from getting hurt, just because they were gay."

"I don't even remember New York," Rachel said.

"Good," Her pops mumbles.

She shoots him a glare then says, "I want to go. You said yourself, you need one more person."

"No."

"Then I'll head out myself," Rachel says over her shoulder, heading upstairs. "I'll look myself, get stuck in a ditch, and die."

"Lee," Her pops says. His voice goes up at the end, saying without saying, "She's going to do it, she's going to do it and she will get hurt and it will be all your fault and I won't say it, but I'll hang it over your head until we are old and decrepit."

Her dad takes a deep breath and calls, "Ray! Alright. Alright. But we're laying down some ground rules, subject to change at any moment."

SHe resists the urge to pump her fist, to hiss out a 'yes' and skips down the stairs to where they are standing, "Yes, sir."

"You will have the walkie-talkie, your cellphone, and flares. You will dress appropriately and carry a book bag. The book bag will have water, more flares, a small snack, your glasses - I don't want to hear it, those contacts get knocked out or dry and you're blind-, socks, and a blanket. If you find Henry, and that is a big if, you will immediately radio in. You will be in a group, you will have three flashlights - again, do not want to hear. You will stay close to whoever is the leader, understand me."

Rachel nodded eagerly, bangs flopping into her eyes.

Daddy's mouth thinned, "Well? Get going!"

She's never climbed stairs so fast in her life. It takes her ten minutes to get dressed and get her book bag ready except for the water and reflector tape. Pops is standing in the kitchen with it, wiggling his bare toes, when she comes in. She holds her arms out and follows him with her eyes, down her arms and legs in neat even strips. When he stands up straight, she sees they are the same height with her addition of boots. He presses his hand to the back of her head and leans close so their foreheads are touching and she's staring into his eyes.

"There's still time to reconsider," He says lowly. "You can stay here with me and beat my ass at Scrabble or Clue or we can watch Food Network and curse being vegan-"

Her voice is just as low, "Pops, I've gotta go. I want to help some parents get their baby back."

"Is this about Shelby? Because we've discussed this, and-"

She shakes her head, leans back, "It's not about Sh- her. I just want to help. Does there always need to be a reason?"

He shakes his head, smooths down back of her head and then fluffs her bangs with his fingers. "Alright. Just, be safe, for your pops? I don't need two daredevils."

"Okay," She says. She presses a kiss to his stubbly cheek, packs four water bottles into the bag and hurries out, closing the front door behind her. Rachel waves, almost at the cruiser, and she sees his shadow on the lawn wave back.

The drive is short and silent. When they pull up, there's an assembled group and when she unbuckles her seat belt, he takes her by the shoulder, leans in, and kisses her temple.

"I know it's a lot coming from you, but nothing dramatic, please."

She grins, "Like I would ever do that to you."

Daddy sighs and pushes her gently.

"Out the car, jerk."

She climbs out and immediately feels like a jackass for being the only one with reflector tape on nearby. If she squints, there's one other person, a lanky guy who has his on in a circular pattern, like a bulls-eye.

Her daddy walks to the center and says, "Alright! I'm officer Berry and I'm here to coordinate the search for Henry Peterson."

There's enthusiastic clapping from everyone and Rachel puts her fingers in her mouth and gives a sharp whistle. A couple of the people next to her clap their hands over their ears and glare. She blushes, "Sorry. That's my dad."

One young woman smiles, "That's cute."

Rachel beamed at her then turned back to her father.

"I want everyone to split up into groups of four, we'll hand one person the walkie-talkie and I'll give you all my number. The walkie-talkie is for check-ins and the cellphone is for Henry. Now, split up."

The people seem to pair up automatically and Rachel bit her lip, looking around, before the girl from earlier says, "C'mere. I've only got three."

There are two men there, one tall and clean-shaven and the other the lanky guy with the tape and a bit of scruff on his chin. The tall one goes and gets the walkie-talkie and a few water bottles.

The young woman says, "I'm Lydia, the tall one is Jim and the skinny guy is Lance."

"I'm Rachel," She responds.

The men murmur greetings before they set out in a straight line, then into a diamond pattern, Rachel in the back as she was the smallest. Every fifteen minutes Jim radios in, always with the same, "No sign of Henry, yet."

It's just after the same call when his flashlight goes out all of a sudden and she hears a thump, like a heavy bag. She swings her flashlight, just like Lydia and Lance, when she sees him. Well, most of him. From chest down, he was whole. From up, he looks like something had crushed him as he walked. Then she sees Jim's light go out, but when she's swinging her flashlight around, he's not there, no where, not on the ground or in the trees, or in parts. She hurries to stand next to Lydia, who is stock-still, chest heaving and eyes wide when she is pressed against someone's chest, their hand on her neck, nails digging into her skin.

"Say a single thing," A woman whispers. "Say one fucking thing and I will rip your fucking throat out."

Rachel stays still and quiet, feels her flashlight slip out the grip of her wet palm and watches as two giant things slip out the woods, blood on their paws and muzzles in the crisp light of the flashlight, and set themselves on Lydia. All she does is close her eyes and she's glad to when she feels warm droplets on her face.


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Werewolves in Lima

Author's name: neveraworsename

Rating: T

Disclaimer: I do not own Glee.

Feedback: Accepted

Distribution: fanfiction, livejournal

Summary: Rachel goes on a volunteer mission as a girl. She comes back something else entirely. AU season 2

Pairing: Rachel/Quinn

Chapter 1 –

Everything after that is a blur. She knows, logically, that she didn't go from the middle of the woods to a hospital room but that's what everything was. It was dark and smelled like blood and fresh, warm earth, and then she felt enclosed and scared and could feel Henry's sobs against her neck, and next she was staring up at the ceiling, hearing beeping noises, smelling disinfectant. She explained it to her parents, explained it to the doctors, the therapist, then the hospital psychologist just to be sure, and the doctors huddled together, they hummed and looked at her occasionally and shook their heads.

"A psychological block," They finally come up with. Whatever had happened was so traumatic that her mind had blocked it. Rachel was fairly certain that it was more of an insult that she was in the pediatric ward, but she was under eighteen and the adult section was over crowded. "It's that time of year," The nurse told her, making sure that her IV wasn't pulling at her veins. He continued, "Around summer and the full moon, people go nuts. They just do dumb stuff, they get hurt, they hurt others. More babies are born then. It's where the word lunatic comes from, lunar, moon."

She was less interested in the etymology and more in the fact that the boy next to her was coughing in her direction, carrying his germs to her. She considered asking if he could be quarantined, but finally decided that it was overkill, even for her. Still, Rachel slept most of the two days she was in the hospital and was immediately taken home and coddled by Pops. Pops didn't seem to care that for the most part, Rachel was already taken care of.

"Your back looks stiff," He said, and sat her up to fluff the pillows.

"I'm fine," She grumbled. As much as she enjoyed attention, this was becoming overbearing. She loved her parents, but after the attack, and her lack of memory of anything besides initially going into the forest with her group, they were unbearable. They'd found bones near her, which probably contributed to the trauma she'd experienced. Henry didn't remember leaving home at all. All he would say was that he'd been in his bed and then next he knew, he was in pain and under Rachel. She'd taken the brunt of the attack. He had one bite mark, but it looked huge on his tiny body. The bite was from his armpit to his waist, past his nipple, but it hadn't broken anything besides a few blood vessels

Without school to get to, she had nothing but Hiram's undivided attention to look forwards to. Within a week, she was tired of seeing him. Her short lived physical therapy was helpful because he wasn't allowed in the room, but she was mostly fine. The marks were huge and were across her left shoulder, her hip, even parts of her torso and had scarred thickly, but they hadn't destroyed any muscles that some working out wouldn't help.

Dr. Munoz approved her for normal physical activity within another week and she immediately set out for a long run. She normally used her elliptical machine but Hiram was still hovering and she thought the fresh air would do her good. She jogged around town, just barely above a walk. She didn't want to strain herself and end up under Pop's tender care again.

She got looks the entire time, but that wasn't unusual. She was somewhat brown to the inhabitants of Lima, her parents were a gay, male, interracial couple, and that was more than enough for people to look at her. She was used to it, but these were not the same looks she was used to. Rachel was rounding a block when she realized what it was. She'd worn a tank top to get some sun and the vivid red marks were on display. People were uncomfortable seeing the marks and the reminder that whatever had been in the woods had yet to be caught. Suddenly uncomfortable, she ran home. She wiped her face of sweat on the porch, then came in, panting.

She could hear her Papa's voice in the living room, "Rachel would love to see him again. She's on a run right now, though."

Rachel went into the living room and immediately found herself smiling. Henry was sitting on the couch with his mother and the instant she stood in the doorway, he looked up, let out a soft sound and threw himself at her. She caught him in a hug that lifted Henry off the floor and he tucked his head under her chin, tiny arms around her neck and his legs wrapped around her waist. She buried her nose in his kinky curls and felt him giggle. They'd met again after the attack, in the hospital, and she'd definitely grown attached to him then, but she hadn't been expecting such a rush of affection to overcome her. When she finally sat down, he stayed on her lap, palming her face and staying close, babbling about his week. He had one of those clear, happy voices and she enjoyed him talking.

Mrs. Peterson chuckled as well as her parents, and Mrs. Peterson said over Henry's voice, "When you get tired of him, you can just tell me."

Rachel laughed, "No, thank you. I love Henry."

"See mommy," He grinned in response, turning around, sticking his tongue out at his mother. "Rachel loooooooves me!"

He kissed her afterwards and she kept her hands on his back, feeling the warmth of his body.

Henry and his mother stayed for a couple of hours and Rachel escorted them out, still in the workout clothes.

"You really got attached to him," Dad said.

Rachel looked down, then said softly, "I guess it's a side effect of – whatever it is we went through."

Everyone was quiet after that, and her parents made lunch for the three of them. For some unusual reason, she'd been craving meat since the attack. Dr. Munoz said it was probably an iron deficiency and to instead eat a full plate of leafy, green vegetables if she didn't want to convert to an omnivore diet. Rachel didn't want to, despite the cravings, and did as she was told. Lunch today was a medley of steamed vegetables, some bright berries, and some almonds in order to stave off her hunger.

She took a shower after lunch and put her pajamas on, knowing she wasn't going anywhere. Her room had two large windows to let in a solid amount of natural light. Their backyard wasn't big, but there was a huge oak tree almost smack in the middle. There was a half-done tree house Pops and Dad had tried to build once, then given up with barely the floor in place, so it was the perfect platform for observing below. She opened the window, stuck her head out, and took in deep gulps of fresh air.

There was something about being indoors that made her feel unsettled. It felt like there wasn't enough inside now, like she wanted to bound outdoors, wanted to traipse through the woods, wanted Mother Nature to hear her ballads of happiness and content living and the underlying loneliness of everything. She took another deep breath and shook her head before ducking inside again.

Rachel found herself pacing around the house, unable to focus for long hours. She felt antsy, like there was too much of her for her skin, and at one point rubbed her face roughly, trying to prove that she was fine, that there wasn't some part of her itching to claw out. Her parents noticed, but didn't really say anything. Calling Rachel "moody" was like calling a sunset "colorful"; just not enough. She'd been pretty complacent in the hospital, so they probably expected something like this to happen.

It was worse at night. Her scars ached, itched, stretched in the moonlight, and she'd gasp into her pillow, nearly tear into it, with the sharp, rapid pain settling across her. Henry came to visit and his mother said he'd experienced the same things at night. He couldn't explain his dreams that went along with them, when he could sleep, and neither could Rachel.

How was she supposed to convey the complete sense of freedom, the feeling that no matter how far she ran, she could always be faster, farther, and that nothing could get in her way? She could feel it when she closed her eyes, in the staccato beating of her heart when she woke up, sweat drenched and gasping. Her longue clothes drifted into pajamas and everything ended up in the dirty clothes, with the sour smell of fear wafting off of them.

She knew things were coming to a head when before she opened her eyes, felt herself in aches and pains, nearly plastered to the sheets of her bed. She was panting and the posters on her ceiling were blurred, just splashes of color. Her head ached worse, trying to focus, which was weird. Rachel turned to her side and could see everything clearly on her night stand. Rachel frowned. She was farsighted, not nearsighted, and it was too dark to see things the way she normally did. She sat up and groaned; everything hurt. She was in muscle pain the whole day, worse than any of her usual workouts, but ran anyways. It kept her calm and for the most part, was what she enjoyed. Her parents had already commented that her running had made her more agile, more streamlined.

The next morning was worse. Everything hurt, burned, her sight was even worse. She was nearly myopic and stumbled into everything like a drunk. Pops grabbed her at some point to keep her from fumbling around, and then asked, "We should go to the doctor. I'll schedule an appointment for tomorrow."

She let him pet her, nearly purring, and he laughed at her, pressing a kiss to her aching forehead before they tucked themselves onto the couch and watched Ina Garter.

Everything cumulated when Finn came to visit her. His scent, normally somewhat mild and pleasant, nearly smothered her and everything he said simply aggravated her headache. They were more friends than dating, especially since he was still uncomfortable with her dads. They were on the half-done treehouse, since Pops kept staring at him in a rather hostile manner. He was never a very good conversationalist and she was grouchy, so he talked about his summer until she'd drifted off into an inappropriate, crabby nap. Her dream was sudden; running in the forest, drunk on the night and filled with moonblood, feeling everything in her call for more, more, more. And her feet were not her feet, they were part of the forest – no, they were paws-

and everything was bleached but bright, scents so sharp she could smell the musky animals deep in the treeline. Then the pain started. Every part of her felt like it had broken in half, then the halves into quarters, and set her bones ablaze. She gasped in her dream, and her gasp turned into a yowl.

There was screaming, suddenly, high pitched and constant, like wailing. She jerked out of her nap, gathering her legs under her until she realized she couldn't, used her arms to pull herself up, too bewildered to notice anything except the ringing in her ears and that the shrieking wouldn't stop. She turned and then she saw him – Finn was on the ground, he was the one making all that noise, but there was something not right about him. He was small and smelled like meat, like blood and organs, and was pushing himself away from her, fear in his eyes.

"Finn," She tried to say, but what came out was a sort of low growl she felt in her stomach. His voice shrunk into soft whimpers and looking down at him, she could see herself in his eyes. She scrambled backwards, eyes squeezed shut, then felt air under her for a few long moments. Rachel landed on her back but immediately rolled onto her stomach and took off, arms acting as legs, her legs taking her further and further from her home. Finn was still whimpering, loud and plaintive in her ears, and her heart was pounding in her chest like it would never stop.

She had seen herself in his eyes.

She had seen herself in his eyes, and she was a monster.


End file.
